


There will be nothing to show that we were ever here but stardust

by smaragdbird



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Home, Homecoming, Introspection, M/M, Nightmares, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: Tuor and Voronwe have made it safely to Gondolin, but they both know the peace won't lastThe doom of the Noldor spares no one
Relationships: Tuor/Voronwë (Tolkien)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	There will be nothing to show that we were ever here but stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/gifts).



During his first night back in Gondolin, Voronwe tossed and turned on his bed in his parents’ house without being able to find any rest. It was too soft, threatening to swallow him whole as soon as he closed his eyes. 

He had been happy to see his parents again once Turgon had released him and Tuor from questioning, but had found that he had nothing to say to them. There were no words to describe the years at sea or the months of his inland journey with Tuor. Finally, Voronwe understood why his father had never talked about his crossing of the Helcaraxe. He missed Tuor who seemed to understand him without any words. After they had been released, Turgon had offered Tuor a place to stay and they had separated for the first time since they had met on the shores of Vinyamar.

Eventually, Voronwe threw his blanket on the ground and curled up beneath it on the bare ground. It was much colder than what he used to, for the last year he had had shared Ulmo’s cloak with Tuor, but it was better than the bed. 

Still, there was no rest to be found here. He shivered, rubbing his arms to feel a little bit of warmth, but it wasn’t just the cold that disturbed him. The air was too still where he was used to wind and rain, and it was too quiet. No roll of the sea disturbed his peace, no sound of breath right next to him.

When exhaustion finally pulled him under, his dreams turned disturbing. He was back on the ship, except this time Tuor was with him, shouting at him but the thunder and waves crashing had rendered Voronwe all but deaf. Every time he tried to make his way across, the ship would lurch and he’d be thrown back against the rigging. Salt water burned in his eyes. 

/

In his dreams, Tuor was back on the road. He awoke alone beneath Ulmo’s cloak and to pitch-black darkness. There was no moon, no stars and no Voronwe. Where could he have gone? He would’ve never left Tuor without waking him and yet Voronwe wasn’t here. 

He pushed off the cloak, it felt suffocatingly heavy all of sudden, and strained his eyes to look for Voronwe in the darkness. 

“Tuor!” His name was called so suddenly and so loudly, it made him flinch. Had it been Voronwe’s voice? He thought so but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Tuor!” 

“Voronwe?” Tuor whispered into the darkness. “Where are you?”

“TUOR!” A scream, a crescendo. Tuor threw all caution in the wind and ran after the voice but each time it called his name, it seemed to come from a different direction. Something tangled around his legs and made him fall and the voice grew louder and louder until it descended into a cacophony of noise that did not resemble a word anymore.

Tuor’s eyes flew open and he found himself staring at a white stone ceiling, his blanket tangled around his body like a snare. The sun was rising and painted the room in red, orange and gold. It was strange to see a sunrise from this side, he and Voronwe had always walked through the night and slept during the day. 

Voronwe. Even out of his nightmare, Tuor felt his absence like a missing limb. He pushed a hand through his hair and got out of bed. Clothes had been left for him, finer than anything he had ever worn in his life. He dressed quickly and then asked the nearest guard for directions to Aranwe’s house.

Aside from the ruins of Vinyamar, Tuor had never seen a city or indeed any larger settlement in his life. Gondolin was a jewel in Beleriand, unlike any other place, and yet Tuor had no eyes for its beauty. Every street corner looked the same to him, all the buildings were made of the same white stone, and he had to ask more than one passer-by for directions anew. 

Eventually he hoped he had found the right house and knocked. Voronwe’s mother opened the door. She could only be Voronwe’s mother because Tuor saw him in every line of her face, in her eyes and the long dark locks of her hair.

“Tuor!” Voronwe pushed past his mother and embraced him and Tuor felt himself relax from a tension he hadn’t even known had been there until this moment. Voronwe’s body against his felt familiar and reassuring and Tuor buried his face in Vorowne’s shoulder as he held him tightly.

/

Watching Tuor talk to his parents about their journey across the breakfast table, Voronwe marbled at how easily he could put the past year into words. Despite having been raised by elves, despite spending most of his life in their company, Tuor was still fundamentally mortal. He seemed to recover more quickly, seemed to be able to put the past behind him when it was only a day old. He praised the beauty of Vinyamar and Voronwe’s skills as a guide as if the ruins weren’t haunted by ghosts and as if Voronwe hadn’t relied on Tuor as much as Tuor had relied on him.

“And what do you think of Gondolin?” His father asked when Tuor ended his story with their arrival at the gates.

“I’ve barely seen it”, Tuor admitted and looked at Voronwe. “I had hoped you could show me around.”

“I’d love to”, Voronwe replied, despite not being sure he could. He had left Gondolin twenty years ago and the city did not feel as if it was his anymore. Despite having been born in Vinyamar, he had grown up in Gondolin and spent most of his life here. Yet twenty years away had been enough to make him feel like a stranger in his home.

Perhaps because he knew now that it was doomed to fall soon. Just like Vinyamar, Gondolin would be a ruin, haunted by ghosts, abandoned and forgotten. It filled his heart with melancholy to know that he had returned home only to lose it again.

“It looks like it’s been formed from freshly fallen snow”, Tuor observed with wonder in his voice as they walked the streets.

Voronwe tried and failed to see it like Tuor did. Once he had felt safe here, now he wondered if there was a single safe place left in this world that was open to him and his kind.

“How did you not get lost here?” Tuor asked, pulling Voronwe from his thoughts. “It all looks the same.”

“Many here would say the same about the wilds of Mithrim.”

Tuor tilted his head with a smile. “Point taken.” He took Voronwe’s hand. “I think I’m only realising now that we’ve made it. This city, it feels so pure, so untouched. I’m not sure if this is the dream or if the past years were the nightmare.”

On the road, Voronwe had often thought the same about his years at sea, but also his visit to Nan-tathren. His hand tightened around Tuor’s. “You once told me that Ulmo spoke to you in a dream. It seems even our dreams are real.”

“I hope not”, Tuor replied but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. Voronwe knew him well enough to see that he hadn’t slept well either.

“I was at sea last night”, Voronwe said. With solid ground under his feet and Tuor by his side, the nightmare seemed less frightening. “You were with me but not. You kept calling for me but I couldn’t hear you.”

“I was on the road again. I had lost you in the darkness. You kept calling my name, but I couldn’t find you”, Tuor turned towards him. “If our dreams are real, perhaps they are a warning that we shouldn’t be apart.”

“Perhaps”, Voronwe agreed. With his free hand he reached out and pushed a strand of Tuor’s hair behind his ear. Tuowr closed his eyes and turned his head, leaning into the touch.

“Will your people find it strange?” He asked, his eyes opening to find Voronwe’s.

“My father is a Noldo from Aman and my mother a Sinda from the Falas. They can hardly lecture me about a union between two different peoples.”

Tuor laughed softly. “But I am mortal. And a man.”

“You are asking a question that has already been answered”, Voronwe replied. “You are my choice as much as you were my fate.”

“Good. Because…”, Tuor hesitated and glanced down. “I was afraid you would be ashamed of me. Or that, perhaps, our union was only for the duration of our journey. Something fit for the road but not for this place.”

Voronwe rested his hand against the side of Tuor’s face and made him look up once more. “You and I both know that before long we will find ourselves on the road again, perhaps even the sea. Real or not, last night has shown me that I can only be at peace with you by my side.”

“And I with you”, Tuor replied and pressed a kiss to Voronwe’s palm. “Let us make the most of the peace that we’ll have.”


End file.
